


Another One Gone

by Suaine



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale/Crowley implied, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-31 23:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20248276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suaine/pseuds/Suaine
Summary: When the really big one comes, Aziraphale and Crowley are going to be prepared.





	Another One Gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [65thvictor](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=65thvictor).

> This is just a small exploration of a much bigger idea, the war between the Occult and Celestial forces vs. humanity.

There was a small restaurant at the end of the world, a tiny place, grubby and lived in, a place that radiated love like a nuclear reactor. There was a sign above the door which time had worn down to illegible symbols. Everyone came here, angels and demons and humans, whoever needed a break from the fight.

Years ago, so many years now, an angel who wasn’t an angel and a demon who wasn’t a demon had built the restaurant with their bare hands. It had needed to be done like this because magic and miracles worked in mysterious ways and only if it was done the long way around would it be able to stand for centuries.

When Pollution walked through the door they were filthy and tired, more filthy even than they would have caused themselves. Terror and dust tasted different when it was the blood of comrades and the tears of a war they couldn’t win. No one was going to win.

They walked up to the counter. For all that the restaurant was weathered edgeless by time, the surfaces were clean, the furniture well-kept. It looked lovely and they couldn’t wait to bruise it.

“Oh, deary me, you look absolutely famished. What can I get you?” They laughed at the joke, Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, surely had not forgotten which of the Horsepersons he was looking at.

Pollution indicated the menu - there was only one item on it. “I’ll take the house special.”

Aziraphale nodded and ducked into the back, yelling: “We have one house special, my dear. Make it a good one!”

They could hear the other one, the demon Crowley, curse and grumble. “All my specials are good ones and you know it! I’m a fantastic chef.”

Aziraphale came back out and smiled beatifically at Pollution. “He really is fantastic. You know, he’s been making me crepes every year? He learned from a French chef, when there still was a France.”

Pollution nodded politely. They were not interested in the angel’s domestic bliss. Before all this, they never would have thought it possible, but endless war had made them weary. They traced their fingers across the countertop, leaving greasy marks in their wake. “The war is going to end soon.”

Aziraphale’s smile faded. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

Pollution laughed. “You’re the last bastion of peace on this ruined earth, and we will destroy you.”

Swallowing visibly, Aziraphale nodded. “Ah, yes, I’ve heard that before. You know who has said that to me?”

Crowley came from the kitchen with a plate that smelled surprisingly delicious. “You should really ask him. He’s very keen on telling that story.” Then, after carefully placing the plate in front of them, he dropped a hand towel on the counter and walked to the entrance, turning the “open” sign to “closed”.

Pollution started to feel like coming here had been a mistake. They looked at the inviting food, a plate of fish.

“Did you know that fish has some of the highest concentration of mercury and other heavy metals? While fish can be good for health, pollution in the oceans has made it a bit of a death trap.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I did know that!”

Pollution took a bite of the fish. It was poisoned to the core, heavy with metal and plastic and oil. “It’s delicious.” They carefully placed the fork beside the plate. “Who said it to you, before?”

Crowley snorted and Aziraphale leaned over the counter. He looked, suddenly, less like a scared mammal, and more like a Principality of the Lord Herself. “When have you last seen your colleague, the esteemed Dr. Sable?”

Pollution’s eyes widened and they suddenly realized that there was only one door, and Crowley had placed himself directly between them and the exit. “He fell in the war.”

Aziraphale smiled again. “Did he now?”

Pollution prepared themselves to run, but it was too late. They could see the burn of a golden, terrible light, the light of God forged into a weapon.

There was a small restaurant at the end of the world, and it was said that in the war between Heaven and Hell and the last remnants of Humanity it was the bastion that would stand against the tide. Not even Death dared to tread here, uninvited.

No one who entered with ill will was ever seen again, and no one who entered seeking shelter would ever be hurt.


End file.
